


Play Later

by punk_rock_yuppie



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Barebacking, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Future Fic, HP: EWE, M/M, PWP, fantasies, porn without plot/plot what plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-18
Updated: 2018-02-18
Packaged: 2019-03-20 20:31:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13725426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punk_rock_yuppie/pseuds/punk_rock_yuppie
Summary: Draco just wants two things: to have sex in Harry's office, and to be called'Malfoy'again, just for a little while.Harry is all too happy to oblige.





	Play Later

**Author's Note:**

> basically, i wanted to write some pwp for these two and liked the idea of draco being fucked up against a desk--so this happened! just a random porn-y one off. thanks to cathect for betaing!
> 
> enjoy!

Draco can’t help the way his eyes widen, his mouth drops open, not anymore than he can help the sharp, breathy gasp from escaping his lips. His fingers curl around the edge of his desk and his nails bite into the wood and he thinks if he holds much harder, he’ll leave angry welts in the wood. Behind him, Potter huffs a laugh right as the zip of his trousers bites against Draco’s arsecheek.

“Wanker,” Draco manages to breath even as he lets one hand off the desk and throws it behind him to grip Potter’s hair. It’s an already tangled mess and Draco’s fingers knotting in it don’t help matters, except to let Draco yank Potter closer and wring a little yelp of pleasure from his lips.

In retaliation, Potter’s hips jump and his balls slap against Draco’s. “Fuck, Malfoy, your arse.” Potter’s words are just slightly muffled against the curve of Draco’s jaw, and after he speaks he laves his tongue over the sweat-slick skin and hums. “You take it so good,” he murmurs as he rolls his hips in slow, small circles. He barely pulls out before pushing back in, and it’s maddening. His thickness is splitting Draco open incessantly but the tease of his length is wasted when Potter won’t fuck him _properly_.

“Potter, I swear to Merlin’s bloody— _ah_!” Draco’s threat is lost as Potter pulls out until the tip is just barely inside, before slamming back home again. “Oh, _fuck_ , you god damned berk.” Draco arches his back and pushes his arse against Potter. His grip on the desk is starting to ache and the edge is digging into his thigh almost painfully. Draco doesn’t care, and Potter doesn’t care, and it’s perfect.

Potter’s next thrusts sends the desk skittering an inch across the floor, and leaves Draco stumbling to stay steady. “I’ve got you,” Potter mutters softly. True to his word, one arm curls around Draco’s waist and the other curls over his chest. It’s like a vice and Draco feels trapped, constricted, and he’s never been so turned on in his life. With a soft breath of magic the desk scoots back so Draco can still brace him against it; a quick whisper of a spell from Potter, and the desk only groans under the strength of their thrusts, not moving again.

“Oh, oh, oh _fuck_ , Potter.” Draco still hasn’t let up his grip in Potter’s hair, and still yanks on it every few thrusts just to feel Potter’s hips stutter.

“Yes,” Potter hisses, right against Draco’s ear. “You look perfect like this, Malfoy. Trussed up in your nicest outfit—you’ve got that meeting with Kingsley in an hour, don’t you? And here you are, completely fucked out on my cock.” Potter bites at Draco’s burning earlobe. Potter’s zipper is still nipping at the curve of Draco’s arse but the pain sends sparks of pleasure racing along his spine, and reminds Draco of what a picture they paint.

Draco is still mostly dressed: his shirt is wrinkled and hiked up higher on his waist; the exposed skin of his stomach is smeared with his own precome, coming perilously close to staining the hem of his shirt. His slacks were the first thing Potter yanked down, just far enough to expose his arse. Potter has even more clothes on—his auror robes are draped around him and spelled back and charmed to repel stains. His trousers are hardly hanging off his hips. He’d barely bothered with getting them unzipped, and Draco knows there will be angry little marks along the pale skin of his bum from Potter’s zipper.

Draco shudders at the thought, and lets out a whine he can’t contain.

Potter hums thoughtfully against his ear. “You close, Malfoy? Can I get you to come just like this?”

Draco keens again and clenches around Potter’s cock in revenge; it sucks a stolen breath from Potter’s lungs and he groans after, sounding vaguely pained. “Just _fuck_ me, Potter. _Now_.”

He does, and if he weren’t so strung out on pleasure Draco might take a minute to appreciate the obedience. Potter starts up a punishing and unrelenting pace, and the office is soon filled with the sound of skin on skin. The slaps are obscene, almost more obscene than their unison moans. Draco’s hand goes lax in Potter’s hair and he forgets to tug the closer he gets to orgasm. Similar, Potter’s taunts and filth die down as he puts all he has into fucking Draco’s arse.

“Close,” Draco chokes out when the pleasure starts to crest. He moves to untangle his hand from Potter’s hair, to drop it to his straining dick, but before he can Potter is curling a hand around his cock.

“Come for me,” Potter says softly again, still too smug for Draco’s liking but just desperate enough he’s hapless to do anything but obey. His own prick starts to pulse and his come spills over Potter’s fingers, over the edge of the desk and on the corner of a stray piece of parchment. Draco shakes and whines as his orgasm rushes through him and his head falls back to rest on Potter’s shoulder. Faintly, through the haze, he feels Potter’s lips on his temple and listens to his whispers. “That’s it, love.”

Draco grins and clenches again, unsurprised when Potter jerks against him and starts to come. He humps against Draco’s arse as he fills him with come, all the while grunting and groaning against Draco’s cheek. When he’s finally spent and softening, when his come is leaking from Draco’s arse sluggishly, Harry finally laughs. He kisses Draco’s cheek, wet and loud and smacking.

“Yes, yes, you love me terribly much and you’re a right sap when you’ve just come, please do stop.” Draco’s voice is sharp and for show and he makes no move to leave Harry’s embrace. He leans back against his lover and sighs. “A scourgify wouldn’t go amiss,” he advises when Harry doesn’t even flinch.

Harry nods lazily and against Draco’s cheek, his lips move in some toneless murmur of the spell. Draco sighs again as the cleaning charm whips around him, cleaning his cock and his bum _and_ the desk. Harry finally steps back and lets his fingers trail lovingly over Draco’s arse as he goes.

Draco tsks. “Ah, hands off.” He reaches down to yank his slacks back up and shoots a glare over his shoulder at Harry. “Every time you try that, you coerce me into a second round, and I really _do_ have a meeting with Kingsley in,” Draco casts a quick tempus. “In forty-five minutes.” Once he’s mostly satisfied with his state of dress and he’s reasonably confident Harry won’t try to disrobe him again, Draco faces him. “Alright?”

Harry, jeans still hanging low and flaccid cock still sitting out, grins dopily at Draco. “Yeah, course.” He leans forward and brushes a feather-light kiss over his lips, one Draco finds himself chasing despite his earlier chiding. “We’ll have plenty of time this weekend.”

Draco’s prick gives a valiant twitch at the thought of their planned weekend—away from the continent and work and the slew of friends and family who seem to have made it a point to interrupt them as often as possible. Draco bites his lip on a smile, and reaches for Harry. “C’mere,” he urges gently. Harry obeys, again. His hands snap to Draco’s hips at the same moment their mouths connect, and Draco moans into the kiss.

“You really should go,” Harry says, reluctantly pulling away. “Or I will ‘coerce’ you into another round, and you’ll be late, _again_.” He kisses Draco once more, deliberately chaste, before taking three paces backward. “Tonight.” He promises with a glint in his eyes.

Another wave of heat rushes through Draco’s body and he almost says _to hell with the Minister_ , but a knock on the door catches their attention. Harry hurriedly sets himself back to rights and Draco gives himself another once over. When they’re both satisfied—knowing full well it will be obvious to most anyone who comes in, just what they were up to a few minutes prior—Harry nods toward the door and the locking spell comes undone.

“Hey, mate.” Ron enters cautiously, and Draco watches him take stock of their clothes. When it’s clear they’re not naked, he sighs audibly in relief. “Lunch?” He asks. He looks at both of them, back and forth, and Draco marvels at the invite.

“I’ve got a meeting with the Minister I still need some documents for,” Draco says with a genuine lilt of regret in his tone. “But thanks.”

Ron only nods at him. He looks over Draco’s shoulder to Harry, who grins. “See you at the floo in ten?” Ron asks, sure to get a nod of agreement before leaving again. The door doesn’t shut fully behind him, and they listen to his footsteps echo down the corridor.

“Try not to stay too late, tonight,” Harry says as he and Draco walk to the door. “I know you can’t necessarily help it, but—?”

“I won’t,” Draco promises quietly. “I owe you.” He jerks his head cheekily toward Harry’s desk, which, while clean of spunk, still looks messier than usual. “Tonight,” he says, a mimicry of Harry’s earlier heavy tone.

Harry’s eyes go dark and hooded, and he crowds Draco into one last kiss. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Draco meets his gaze with a smirk. “You better.”

 


End file.
